Made of Money

I was just reviewing my last post because I thought I’d seen a typo, and noticed the part where I said that I am not made of money – one of those things my parents said that I swore I’d never repeat, and yet here I am.

But let’s suppose I actually were made out of money. That still wouldn’t solve anything, you know? Because if I have to peel dollar bills off of my body to pay for things, pretty soon I’m not going to have much body left. And where would I start? A leg? An arm? My torso? It kind of seems like self-cannibalism. Unless the money grows back, like skin and hair? Maybe? In which case if you weren’t spending enough money you’d get all gross with dead money built up on you and you’d have to exfoliate off the excess money and put it in a jar or buy a pizza or something.

I’m just saying.

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